


Better Out Than In

by st_aurafina



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-17
Updated: 2011-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-21 11:48:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_aurafina/pseuds/st_aurafina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik's sea-sickness doesn't bother him until after the attack on the Caspartina.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Out Than In

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/2439.html?thread=2555527#t2555527), which references Erik's sea-sickness as mentioned in New Mutants #23.

It started as soon as the adrenaline wore off: the familiar nervous roll in the stomach which crested each time the Coast Guard ship skipped over a wave. The weather was warm enough, but Erik and the strange puckish man who spoke in his mind had both been given dry clothes and a hot drink by the crew. Neither did anything for the cold sweat breaking down Erik's back or the acid taste in his mouth as the deck shifted under his feet. He hunched into the blanket around his shoulders and slunk off to a utility room. There he could prop his back against a crate full of comfortingly iron rich cabling and bear his misery in solitude. He flexed his fingers, and a steel bucket flew from the wall to his hands.

"I hope you don't mind me following you." The man, Charles, obviously didn't believe in knocking, thought Erik, sourly.

*Well, Erik, the door was open, but if you prefer…* Charles rapped lightly on the steel wall with his knuckles.

"Do come in, Charles. Please," Erik waved a hand at the stacked crates before him with false geniality, irked at the way Charles kept a dialogue up with Erik's thoughts. "Take any seat you like."

Charles did just that, perching cross-legged on a crate with a grin, as if they having some Boy's Own adventure and this was just smashing.

"Don't worry, Erik. I'm not going to break out the ginger beer. Although, it's supposedly very good for a queasy stomach."

Even the mention of queasiness was enough to trigger a bilious wave of nausea. Erik clamped his lips together. If he opened his mouth to snap at Charles for intruding on his mind, he'd throw up in his own lap. *STAY OUT OF MY HEAD!* he projected as hard as he could in Charles' direction.

Charles winced and swayed a little. "Ah. I'm intruding again. Please forgive me. I'll watch my manners."

The steel spine of the ship flexed as she climbed another breaker, and Erik closed his eyes so he didn't have to watch the deck tilt away from him. It didn't help, and his stomach fell sharply. His field of vision was beginning to swoop, a sign that the sea-sickness was worsening. This time, he wasn't going to be able to hold it back.

"Oh, you're really suffering, aren't you? Here, perhaps I can help." Charles slipped from the crate to kneel before him, then pressed two fingers to Erik's temple. "There's a part of the brain which detects movement, connected to the inner ear. Theoretically, vertigo originates there. I could convince your mind to ignore those messages."

Erik slapped his hand away weakly, and flailed for the bucket. "Are you a doctor? I don't like doctors." He cradled the bucket to his chest, and waited for the wash of acid up his throat. He didn't care anymore about Shaw, or that this infuriatingly cheerful man was seeing him helpless. He just wanted the nausea to settle. Or for the vomiting to start. Either way, he'd be distracted from the crawling sensation in his gut.

Charles laughed. "No, I'm not a doctor, well, not a medical doctor. I'm just… very well read."

Yes, thought Erik, that's much better. Letting an amateur rummage with the wiring in my brain. His mouth was filled with saliva. It wouldn't be long now. Think about fresh things, he told himself. Think about ice, clean and cold in the mouth. It was impossible though. When the nausea got this bad, it inevitably brought the smell of rotting meat, or the thick oily smoke which clings to the inside of the mouth. Smells and tastes he'd rather forget forever.

Now Charles was turning a little green. "Being around you is certainly going to teach me not to eavesdrop. Here," he scrabbled in his coat pockets. "I've got some peppermints somewhere, they might help." He pulled out a paper roll of sweets, tufted with lint, and looked at them in dismay. "Then again, perhaps not."

*I've eaten worse,* Erik thought in his direction, and snatched the roll from his hands. Since there was a mind reader in the cabin with him, he might as well take advantage; he didn't trust himself to open his mouth. He peeled the foil away from the peppermints and crammed three into his mouth, grinding them up furiously between his teeth. Volatile coolness flooded over his tongue, searing the acid taste of bile away. He leaned his head against the crate with a sigh.

"We'll be on shore soon," said Charles. "I'm already picking up on the minds of the harbour master and the docking crew."

Erik breathed slowly, and distracted himself with a mental calculation of how far they were from shore. That gave him an idea of Charles' mental range, a handy thing to know for when he planned to slip away. Whether it was due to the peppermints or the fact that they were closing in land, the nausea was beginning to retreat.

Charles rocked back on his heels in delight. "You really have a knack for this, this ability to extrapolate the use of mutant powers. You must come and meet my sister. Or talk to the CIA. We have a lot in common, you and I."

Erik eyed him dubiously. "You've told the CIA about your abilities? Are you mad?" He looked mad. All enthusiasm and a wide grin.

"No," said Charles, and settled beside him comfortably while the ship churned through the shallows. "I'm just excited about meeting a new friend. Madness could be defined as attacking a man on a yacht when one sufferers from crippling sea-sickness."

*Oh, we're friends now? Wonderful.* Erik tried to lace the thought with as much sarcasm as he could muster. His head was starting to throb, though he didn't know if it was a backlash from the nausea, or an effect of all this mental projection.

Evidently, little of the sentiment transferred, because Charles patted him on the knee affectionately. "That's the spirit, my friend. We've got a wonderful time ahead of us."


End file.
